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Nat Lipstadt Nov 2019
“rootless in shallows of momentary mayhem
and no matter the change in horizon,
there is always some thing to be found
that could remind me
of the worst ways I have ever been.”

from “Harlequin Days of Fecund Fervor” by Victoria


rereading these your words, upset forces me to break a recent vow,
my own writing banished, now faceless in the ranks
of just another poet, busted in rank, chose my own
decommissioning but then your momentary mayhem
plea, fecund you, your third harlequin, states construct!

stay the constriction, the recalling of our worst worsts,
for there is always something to be found, recalled,
that the horizon’s only constant is constant change,
especially the worst worsts

I am colored by your treats, your word plums ripe even
out of season, and the mayhem is mine only mine,
robbed you for it is I, rootless, given up my planting, then
the cobblestones of old new york, trip me up, saying
even old things such as you, have a prime yet to come,
stones fecund seeding, predicting I am not done, just undone,
and fetuses within this dying body, may yet be carried to term,
may yet, maybe, may be, but may be caesarean stillborn

rambling this, mostly musty unclear, so summarizations a
sensible thing, a pardon requested for clarity is a sometime thing.

rare are the days that the terracotta colored soil
darkens my fingernails,
it is dried blood from my scratching deep beneath the skin’s topsoil,
but nothing grows that’s whole, warped are the word fruits.
my soup is hot water with salt, a tasty dish apropos for one
whose growths are rootless in the shallow, infertile dirt of stones
that reside in the shallows of a garden of mine own
fecund may-hem of the grey fall sky autopsy turvy
Lydia Mar 2018
I have let myself wander and go
away from the me I always was

a wild thing,

the world is trying to muffle the sound of my
soul yelling through the fog my heart has created

other's views and negative thoughts
have affected me greatly
every harsh, word or tense way has sent me reeling,
pushing me farther and farther away from finding myself again,
got me off track, pointing me in every direction except the one I need to get back to me

forget myself and I forget it all,
lose the best parts of me and the worst at the same time,
doubt creeps in and I don't wanna try,
because who I am doesn't seem to matter anyway,
no one would even care if I disappeared,
in fact they would be happy I wasn't here

the voice that's left in my soul is exhausted from holding up the weight,
but space and time has created some beautiful things and the Lydia who is left under my skin hopes that the same will be true for me

— The End —